Demon Angel

frustrating—traits.
    One of her more distinctive ones, as well; when she'd operated in her typical servant's disguise, it had often been her un-apologetic mien that had led him to suspect her true identity. Over the past sixteen years, the instinct to search every face for Lilith underneath had faded, and it was only when a certain expression, a mischievous laugh, or the tilt of a woman's head reminded him that he was struck by these instants of recognition.
    There were worse things, he decided, than having unexpected flashbacks to his centuries as a Guardian or nightmares that left him sleepless for months at a time. He wasn't certain if he should bemoan or rejoice that his life had become so uneventful that the most exciting episode that week had been a forecast without rain—but it was better than an existence permeated by a lack of faith in his role.
    And his memories of that time were not completely unwelcome.
    A light breeze picked up as he walked across the quad. A pair of students—engineering, Hugh judged by the spill of books on the grass—began an impromptu game of Frisbee, and he had to duck as the plastic disc whizzed by his head. They shouted an apology; he grinned to himself, and mentally adjusted that week's tally. Exciting moments: two.
    He might not have a Guardian's reflexes anymore, he mused, but as long as he came out of a Frisbee incident unscathed, his life wasn't so terrible.
    As he drew closer to the Humanities Building, however, the heavy sensation that had grown so familiar of late returned to his stomach. Not dread, but something akin to it. Unable to define it precisely, he'd suppressed the feeling.
    Given that Savi had noticed it, he'd not suppressed it well enough.
    He took the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor, where he shared an office with Sue Fletcher, another adjunct professor. At least he could be certain that it wasn't his occupation; he enjoyed teaching, and as he paid little attention to the politics of academia, the bureaucracy did not engender the same negativity in him that he witnessed in many of the other faculty.
    But if he could not ascertain the root of the problem, no matter—whatever the feeling was, it would eventually pass. Given enough time, everything did. Perhaps he just needed to meet with Colin, engage him as a fencing partner. The vampire would be safe acting as a target for his restlessness, and Hugh would be hard-pressed to find a more experienced opponent.
    Or one who would remind him of everything he wanted to leave behind.
    No; it was better to forget Colin's offer. Better not to get involved with problems that, as a human, he couldn't solve.
    Not that he'd been particularly successful solving them when he'd been a Guardian.
    By the time Hugh reached his office he was brooding, though he was careful to keep his dark mood from his expression. He hadn't scheduled any appointments, but it didn't surprise him to find two people waiting outside the office door: a tall, barrel-round man, pushing fifty; and a woman—the male's younger, vibrant opposite—her short auburn hair and tailored navy suit neat and efficient. Judging by the man's bearing and gray suit, probably law enforcement, though not quite clean-cut enough for FBI.
    If they'd come to question him about Savi, they'd have been federal; a visit from local officers was unusual, but it wasn't alarming.
    He supposed if he turned around and ran, it would cause another exciting moment—but it would hardly do to act in such a manner just to ease his ennui.
    He shook himself, frowned. Where had that bit of nonsense come from?
    Better to get this over, before another ridiculous notion could occur to him.
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CHAPTER 11
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    "Professor Hugh Castleford?" Her inflection made his name a question, but Hugh didn't doubt they knew exactly who he was. She smiled; her eyes remained flat and cool. "We're Detectives Taylor and Preston of the SFPD." She indicated herself first, then her partner.
    "Detectives." Hugh nodded his acknowledgment as he slid his key into the knob. "What can I do for you?"
    They came in and took in everything with a single glance. Hugh scrutinized them as quickly as he put down his bag and seated himself behind his desk. They moved in tandem, the familiarity of a long partnership. Taylor sat in the chair facing his desk, her feet placed neatly in front of her. Preston dragged the visitor's chair from Sue's side of the office, whirled it around and straddled it.